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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185851">I'm Not A Pitch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyGoodOdds/pseuds/PrettyGoodOdds'>PrettyGoodOdds</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, POV Minor Character, daphne is sassy, simon saves baz from numpties</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:35:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185851</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyGoodOdds/pseuds/PrettyGoodOdds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Daphne's POV of Baz's kidnapping.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch &amp; Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'm Not A Pitch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My fwend helped me so much.  Best beta ever @larswrites on twitter and Insta.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>DAPHNE<br/>
I can only assume this was how Malcolm was when Natasha died. A shell. Here, but not.<br/>
Basil has been missing for quite a few weeks now. Those weeks have brought a silence upon our house I didn’t think was possible with so many young children running around. Those children are feeling the loss of their brother just as much as we are. They feel his absence at every meal and look hopeful anytime there’s a knock on the door.<br/>
Malcolm told his company he was working from home the moment we realized Basil was not simply acting out—run away with Fiona on some grand adventure. Malcolm’s locked in his office most days and only emerges with puffy, tired-looking eyes. He forces his shoulders back so he can appear in control. But he’s breaking down more and more each day.<br/>
His last connection to Natasha is missing. A ransom demanded. A ransom “Pitches wouldn’t dare pay” or so says Fiona.<br/>
Malcolm is a Grimm, says that he will take the shame upon himself and pay the ransom just to get Basil back. Fiona will not budge, tells him, “Tasha would be disgusted in you, Malc. Have some dignity for the name your son carries.”<br/>
Fiona says a lot of things I don’t agree with right now.<br/>
He’s shut me out. I know he feels guilty. For mourning his late wife again. For losing his only living connection to her—our son. Since the day Basil confidently walked up to me at six-years old and introduced himself, he has been nothing less than one of my own. I don’t know how to pull Malcolm out of this. He’s just like Basil, closing out the world when they need it the most.<br/>
We’re nearing the six-week mark. We only get Basil home for a few months over the summer and precious weeks have already been stolen from us, cut short by some political agenda that children should be sheltered from. Basil should be home, rolling his eyes at me when I ask him to put the children to bed. I’ve spied on him reading them bedtime stories—using an array of different voices to make the children laugh, kissing their foreheads before tucking them in for the night, calling Mordelia “Little Puff” even when she’s being a right brat.<br/>
Now he’s somewhere. Alone. Afraid.<br/>
I just want him home.</p>
<p>			************************************************</p>
<p>Fiona is over for supper tonight. It puts everyone on edge. Basil resembles her a bit. The high nose, raven black hair, her reddish complexion that he would most certainly have had he not been Turned. You can see it peek out sometimes when he’s fed well. Not that we talk about that. It seems to be one of the many things on an invisible list created by Malcolm and Basil.<br/>
Things Grimm’s Must Never Discuss</p>
<p>No. 1 Feelings – This is to be done on one’s own time and never discussed amongst others. </p>
<p>No. 2 The Turning – If we don’t talk about it, it’s like it never happened.</p>
<p>No. 3 Basil’s Queerness – This goes hand in hand with No. 1. Keep all romantic feelings to yourself.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, Fiona either isn’t privy to this list or doesn’t care because she is not holding back tonight.</p>
<p>“How long has he gone without being fed? I presume he’s remained on a strict animal diet?” She’s relentless in her questions.</p>
<p>“Fiona, could we keep this line of questioning for another time?” Malcolm asks. “I hardly see how this matters.”</p>
<p>“It matters be—”</p>
<p>“Perhaps when the children are done eating?” I interrupt. </p>
<p>She sneers. “Do they not know? What kind of household are you running, Malcolm!” Her voice is rising and where the children were unaware before, they are now at full attention. </p>
<p>“We don’t need rumors starting because a four-year old doesn’t know what appropriate dinner talk is. It’s bad enough when a forty-year old doesn’t.” I mean for the remark to be scathing, but smile at her nonetheless. Malcolm’s eyebrows raise, but he manages to stop the smile forming on his lips.</p>
<p>Fiona sighs heavily, but concedes, “Ransom went up again. As if we thought they low-balled his worth. Which they did! But that’s not the point. Pitches don’t pay ransoms.”</p>
<p>“Fiona, might we just consider for a moment,” Malcolm starts.</p>
<p>“No! We have a name to live up to, and no nephew of mine will tarnish it because he was stupid enough to get kidnapped!”</p>
<p>“With all due respect, I am not a Pitch.”</p>
<p>“Believe me, Malc, I know. What my sister—”</p>
<p>“THIS IS OUR SON!” I find myself shouting, hands slamming against the table, rattling the china. </p>
<p>The table has gone silent. </p>
<p>“Vera, would you be so kind as to take the children to the sitting room. What do you say to a movie? Mordelia, help pick one out.”</p>
<p>Vera ushers the children from the table, Mordelia looking skeptical but knowing now is not the time to question. Bedtime should be fun this evening. She’s as precocious as her older brother was, but with none of his decorum.</p>
<p>The table is still shrouded with an eerie silence. Fiona has her damn eyebrow quirked, a smirk playing on her lips and her arms crossed in defiance. This is my home and my children she’s been disgracing, and I will stand for it no further. I calmly sit back into my seat and am surprised when Malcolm grabs my hand. </p>
<p>“Fiona,” I start.</p>
<p>“I didn’t know you had it in you, Love. Never heard your voice raise above a whisper.” Fiona is all but laughing.</p>
<p>“I do believe my wife was speaking. Did the middle of her sentence interrupt the beginning of yours?” Malcolm quirks an eyebrow right back at her. I could never quite master this. It made for some funny attempts, stopping us mid-quarrel just because Malcolm was laughing too hard to be upset anymore.</p>
<p>“Carry on,” she says, waving her hand as if she were shooing away a pest.</p>
<p>I try to keep my voice steady and firm, channel some of my husband's authority. “Basil has been missing for almost six weeks. We do not know of his condition. If he’s well or injured. It is high time we start discussing paying out this ransom. Preserving the Pitch name means absolutely nothing if there is no heir to carry it on.” My voice raises near the end, and I’m a little embarrassed by how loud I’ve gotten. My hand is shaking in Malcolm’s, and he gives me a reassuring squeeze. </p>
<p>“I agree. This has gone on long enough. We need Basil home.” My husband's voice falters on his son’s name. Fiona’s face softens.</p>
<p>“Look, give me to the end of this week. I’ve been working with our dear Chosen One.”</p>
<p>“The Chosen One?” Malcolm has turned up his nose. </p>
<p>“It’s safe to say Basil is nowhere on school property. But the kid has some ideas and I’m loath to say they aren’t bad.”</p>
<p>“If it gets Basil back, does it matter who aids us?” I ask.</p>
<p>“I suppose not,” he agrees. “But if by the end of this week we don’t have him back . . .”</p>
<p>“Then I’ll pay the bloody ransom myself.” Fiona rolls her eyes and shovels a spoonful of Shepard’s Pie in her mouth. She makes a face. “Gone cold, hassit?” She heats it up with a flick of her wand.</p>
<p>“Do try and keep both boys safe, Fiona. They are only children,” I stress.</p>
<p>“I’m not responsible for Snow. I tried to shake him off, but the numpty insisted on helping me. Followed me around campus this weekend like a bloody insubordinate puppy. I’ve looked there…. and there.” Fiona mocks the boy. “Infuriating. I can see why Basil pushed him down the stairs.” She stands and places her napkin on her plate. “I’ll keep you in the loop. We’re close. I know it. I bloody know it.”</p>
<p>She leaves without any further ado. We stay seated, hands clasped until we hear the front door slam shut. It startles us out of our reverie.</p>
<p>“You were phenomenal, Mrs. Grimm.” He squeezes my hand again.</p>
<p>“I want our son back.” I turn to look at him. A single tear has fallen down his cheek. Several more threaten to do the same.</p>
<p>“Me too.”</p>
<p>		**********************************************</p>
<p>The house is in a flurry. Fiona called forty-five minutes ago from a Maccies. They have Basil. They found him. She won’t tell us of his condition, just to have a bath ready and something for him to “eat.”</p>
<p>We’ve had Vera take the children into town. Basil does not need to be bombarded by tiny bodies crawling all over him with a million questions. Mordelia threw a proper fit, the likes of which I haven’t seen since she was a toddler. She missed her brother more than she cared to say. I would sometimes catch her napping in his room. </p>
<p>Malcolm has been pacing the hallway, looking out the window every third lap or so. He’s trying desperately to keep his composure, afraid that if the facade slips for a moment he won’t be able to put it back up fast enough.</p>
<p>Finally, we hear a car door. Two more slams follow. I peek out the window and see Fiona marching up the front walk with a frazzled Simon Snow behind her. Basil is latched onto Simon’s shoulder, plastered along his side. He looks, well, not well. I can’t see him properly. I throw open the door just as Fiona reaches the front porch.</p>
<p>“Told you I’d find him,” she announces as if she were here to claim a prize. She’s about six bloody weeks too late to boast.</p>
<p>“Basil!” I finally reach him. He releases his hold on Simon’s shoulder and lets me embrace him. He’s so thin. I don’t ever remember him being this thin. Even when he was just a young boy, not yet grown into his frame. I’m crying into his shoulder. He’s just holding me, anchoring himself. I feel his father wrap around his other side, his arms coming to rest on my shoulders. Basil suddenly relaxes enough that he collapses between us, and we fall to the ground together.</p>
<p>“His leg is—”</p>
<p>“Leave them be, Chosen One,” Fiona barks.</p>
<p>They continue to bicker, but it’s all just background noise. I can’t believe he’s home, that Simon and Fiona found him. There was a small part of me that wondered if we’d ever see him again, ever see him smile at his siblings when he thought no one was looking or laugh because something struck him as so funny he couldn’t hold back or blush that rosy pink because Mordelia accused him of sneaking out to see a boy when she’d really just caught him coming back from a late-night feed. </p>
<p>But, he's home. He's actually home.</p>
<p>“We have a bath ready for you,” I say. It’s muffled in his shoulder, but he must hear it.</p>
<p>“Mother, you have no idea how absolutely wonderful that sounds.” His voice sounds hoarse, weak from misuse. But it’s so nice to hear. We all laugh in our little huddle.</p>
<p>When we finally pry ourselves apart, Malcolm helps Basil up to his room. They need this, need to realize they still have each other. That’s something I can’t be a part of. </p>
<p>I watch them make it up the stairs and turn around to find Simon Snow still standing in our foyer, a hand in his unruly hair, eyes darting around nervously. </p>
<p>“My dear. I didn’t know you were still here.”</p>
<p>“Uh yeah. Fiona’s gone already. Not that she woulda waited for me anyways. I’ll just call myself a cab . . . er, can I use your phone?”</p>
<p>“Heavens, no. You’ll stay here. You look like you went through quite the ordeal to get our Basil back. We’ll take you back to school after the weekend. Until then, you’re our guest.” </p>
<p>I want to say more, want to pull him into a hug as well, but he’s getting uncomfortable the more I praise him. Honestly, what kind of school is the Mage running?</p>
<p>“I . . . Uhh. Well, do you think? I mean.” He growls and turns an adorable shade of red, pulling at his hair again. I smile and hope it conveys for him to carry on. It takes him a few moments. “Just. . . Will Baz be ok with that?” </p>
<p>“Why don’t we get you some food and let you rest for a bit? I’ll go up and ask him later. I can’t imagine him being anything but accommodating.”</p>
<p>Simon snorts but agrees nonetheless. </p>
<p>I’m terribly thankful I sent Vera out for groceries the day before last. Simon eats like it might be his last meal. Maybe that’s how he thinks. I can’t imagine having a prophecy like his weighing on me day in and day out. His eyes look sunken, and I’m pretty sure his hands are the only way his hair gets combed through. He’s too thin, clothes hanging off his shoulders.</p>
<p>While he eats, he regales me with a heroic retelling of Basil’s rescue. I do not miss how poetically he describes Baz’s ruthlessness, how he would fight next to him a million times. His dislike for Fiona shines through as he mocks her voice, much like she did his, only I laugh at this impression. </p>
<p>He’s a lovely boy. I can’t imagine any mage giving him up. </p>
<p>I excuse myself when Malcolm comes down to say Basil is settled in his room. I want to chat with him before it gets too late. Both Malcolm and Simon are giving me pleading looks as I tell them I’ll be back in a moment. They’ll survive. </p>
<p>I knock lightly on Basil’s door. I don’t want to disturb him if he’s already fallen asleep. </p>
<p>“Come in,” I hear him say just above a whisper.</p>
<p>There’s a new lamp set up across the room from his bed. It’s turned on even though it looks like Basil was setting up to go to sleep. I wonder if Mordelia moved it in here. Basil has always liked his room pitch black. He rarely opens the curtains.</p>
<p>“Hello, darling.” I sit myself on the edge of his bed facing him.</p>
<p>“Hello, mother.” His use of the endearment will never cease to make my heart swell. </p>
<p>“You’ve had a day.” I chuckle.</p>
<p>“You could say that.” </p>
<p>“I don’t want to get weepy on you again, but I’m so glad you’re back home. You made me yell at your aunt!”</p>
<p>He raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t realize I caused that much of a stir.”</p>
<p>“You did.” My voice is starting to falter. “And I absolutely forbid you from doing it again. Is that clear?”</p>
<p>He takes my hand. “I will do my best.”</p>
<p>“Good, good.” I clear my throat and try my best to get myself together. “Now, Mr. Snow is adamant that he shouldn’t stay the weekend. I’ve assured him I can’t see one single reason why you wouldn’t allow it.”</p>
<p>Malcolm must have brought up the pigs blood we stored in the freezer for his return because Basil turns a delightful shade of pink. He’s able to school his face rather fast, but the flush gives him away.</p>
<p>“Assure him he’s more than welcome to return to campus with me after the weekend.”</p>
<p>The way he says it, I’m starting to think I’ve misjudged Basil and Simon’s relationship. Up until now we’ve only heard of punches thrown and harsh words. If Simon is anything like Basil, the sturdier he builds the wall around him, the stronger his fear of getting hurt. </p>
<p>All I see now is two scared boys.</p>
<p>“You should stay and rest my love. You’ve been through so much. A few days is not enough for our family to settle. The children have missed you terribly,” I plead.</p>
<p>“I’ve been gone longer when school’s in session. I’ve missed too much as it is.” </p>
<p>I can see he will be unmovable at the moment. Best to let him rest and let reality sink in. </p>
<p>“Well, we’ll discuss it later, but I’ll let Mr. Snow know he’s more than welcome to stay.” </p>
<p>I hesitate, unsure if I should reveal what I’ve just observed in the kitchen, but this morning I didn’t know if I would ever see Basil again. </p>
<p>“He’s quite taken by you. You should hear him retell your epic numpty battle. I’m surprised he took his eyes off you long enough to fight himself.”</p>
<p>Basil snorts and shakes his head. </p>
<p> “He did most of the fighting.” He looks away from me and whispers, “He hates me really.”</p>
<p>“I think you’ll find that’s not entirely true.” I brush his hair off his face, letting him think about what I’ve said. “Get some rest, Love. Do you want this light off?”</p>
<p>“NO! I mean, it’s fine. I had Father move it in here. I—uh, they kept the coffin—”</p>
<p>I'm horrified, but try not to show it. “Say no more, dear. Sleep well, darling.”</p>
<p>“Mother, can you send Simon up?” He’s suddenly shy, like he knows he’s given too much away. </p>
<p>“Of course.” I shut the door behind me and make my way back to the kitchen. </p>
<p>When I get there Simon has gathered an audience. He’s got four pairs of little eyes opened wide in awe as he once again tells of Basil’s epic rescue. He seems to have recovered enough to rush around the kitchen in his reenactment. Malcolm is sitting at the breakfast nook with his arms crossed pretending to be unamused. </p>
<p>I come up behind Malcolm and wrap my hands around his middle. I’m almost the same height as him when he’s sitting. “He’s quite the storyteller.”</p>
<p>“Is that what this is?” Malcolm asks quietly.</p>
<p>“He brought our son home.”</p>
<p>“I know,” he says through a heavy sigh.</p>
<p>“I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of him.”</p>
<p>“Why would you say that?”</p>
<p>“Just call it mother’s intuition.” I kiss his cheek when he turns to give me a confused look. “Simon, dear, Basil has asked to see you.”</p>
<p>Simon stops mid-sword thrust with one of my wooden spoons and looks up at me with a huge grin. “Really?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Children, Mr. Snow will have to finish his story later.”</p>
<p>This is met by a chorus no’s, the loudest from Mordelia. She seems quite taken with Simon, just like her brother.</p>
<p>I direct Simon to Basil’s room, and Malcolm and I watch him practically race up the stairs. </p>
<p>“We might need to start enforcing an open door policy, Mr. Grimm.”</p>
<p>“Why? With who? Why?” I love it when I can fluster him.</p>
<p>“Come now, surely you remember what young love is like?”</p>
<p>I leave him in the kitchen with his jaw hanging open and gaping at the stairs.</p>
<p>It’s so nice to have our family whole again.</p>
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